


Nachtschattengewächs

by feralpixiedreamgirl



Category: The Turning (2020)
Genre: Drabble, Dubious Consent, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man, One-Shot, Underage - Freeform, Underage Drinking, age gap, beta-reading is for people with morals, foot job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25810909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralpixiedreamgirl/pseuds/feralpixiedreamgirl
Summary: In the middle of the night Kate indulges herself.
Relationships: Miles Fairchild/Kate Mandell
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	Nachtschattengewächs

The clank and cash rip her from the depths of a deep sleep. Kate already can’t remember any of the vivid pictures her mind entertained (or tortured) her with after hours of turning over in her bed. The dream has left her with a feeling of dread in her stomach and an unbearable tiredness dragging at her eyelids.

Nonetheless she throws the covers off of her to investigate the noise. The floor is cold benath her bare feet as she tipper-tappers to her door. Right outside in the dark corridor there is another silhouette and for a terrifying moment she is transported back into her dream.

But then her eyes adjust to the darkness and she recognizes the shock of dark hair. Miles. The teenager is standing next to something that must have been one of the knights armors that adorn the hallways. Now it looks like nothing more than a pile of scrap metal.

She’s not sure he has noticed her yet, but she knows she doesn’t like the loopy smile with which he stares down at the mess he has made. Her sleepiness has been replaced by annoyance.

With one hand pinching the bridge of her nose she calls out his name in a half-whisper. He looks up at her strangely delighted. “Kate!” he yells back in a volume completely inappropriate for the hour. His smile is turned up to eleven. She shushes him and moves closer to find out what is going on.

“Miles, why did you do that? And why aren’t you in bed? It’s - ” She checks her wrist for her watch, but that has been left on the bedside table. “It’s three am,” he informs her. “And I’m not tired.” His words sound sloppy, like he’s missing every consonant by half a step. And she can smell it on him now, the sickly sweet odour of hard alcohol mixed with something sugary.

“Miles, what did you do?” she repeats but he doesn’t seem to grasp what exactly she wants to know. “I just went a little to fast around the corner” – he mimicks someone falling over with both arms outstretched, nearly missing her chest – "kaboom” – he gestures wildly to the heap on the floor.

“Yeah, I can see that. Where did you get the alcohol?” If she had hoped for shame she would be disappointed. Miles looks at her like the cat that ate the canary. She presses her lips together in a thin line. “Come with me this instance,” she presses out and turns to leave.

“Are you gonna take me to bed, Kate?” Miles doesn’t sound impressed, but she can hear his footsteps behind her. They trail her into the kitchen where she opens the cupboard that she knows hold quiet a lot of spirits (for Mrs. Grose’ consumption, Kate presumes). The collection is big and varied, whiskey, wodka, brandy, labels that promise a richness of flavour and an interesting taste. If there’s something missing Kate can’t tell.

When she turns back to face Miles his smile still goes from ear to ear. “Sit down,” she demands, trying to keep her anger from spilling over into her voice. It comes out strained. Miles, to his credit, follows her order and sits down on the wooden chair beside the kitchen table.

She can feel the challenge in his grin. Her hands turn to fists. One grips the side of her night gown, and when the other one grips his hair his mouth drops open in a shock that she can feel in her bones.

It scares her in a way she can’t describe, but still, angry, she pushes on. “How dare you?” she wants to know, but Miles doesn’t answer. She can see tears forming at the corner of his eyes, embarrassing color creeping up his cheeks. She wipes away the sweat of her other hand on her clothes then brushes his soft skin where it’s now rosy. His adams apple bobs and her hand traces his movement before she can stop herself. His blush deepens.

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” She asks, her tone so low and gravily now that it sounds strange to her own ears. Miles tries to shake his head against the hold she has on his hair and then winces in a way that makes electricity crackle in her veins. Something close to disgust scratches at the periphery of her consciousness but before she examine the feeling her attention is grabbed by the way Miles fidgets in his seat.

He presses his legs together, a buldge clearly visible in his crotch. When he whimpers quietly she gasps in response. A hot flash washes over her and she lets go of him, horrified. Miles collapses in on himself like someone had cut his strings. His shoulders shake softly as little tears fall down and form dark spots on his trousers. His hands grip the chair on either side of him in a white-knuckled grip.

Her horror is no match to the heat in her gut. “Miles, look at me,” she says. After a few seconds he follows her order. There is no trace left of his teenage arrogance. His face is expression is open, the vulnerability clearly visible in the slightly open mouth and the wet streaks on his cheeks.

“Open your legs.”

Miles eyes grow big. The tears have stopped now, but the blush deepens. ‘Oh God, he’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever seen,’ she admits, quietly, only to herself.

He lets go of his seat then, complies.

She takes one of the other chairs from the kitchen table, from the same set as the one Miles is sitting on, and positions it opposite of him. With a sense of self-confidence she doesn’t actually feel she drops down on it, all the while staring the boy (her charge) down.

And then she watches her right feet crawl up on the inseam of his pantleg, slowly make his way upwards till it meets the prominent bulge.

The noises fall from his lips so softly and so delicately that she knows whatever might happen after this, tomorrow, the day after, it will all be worth indulging in this moment.

His head falls back and his shoulders slump when she starts to massage his cock. She can feel how hard he is through the several layers of fabric and it makes her feel proud in the weirdest way.

Miles seems to be extremely sensitive, shivering and shifting in his seat, pushing against the movement of her feet. A small drop of sweat trails down the site of face to vanish in his collar as he presses his lips together.

She can’t help herself. “Do you like this, Miles? Tell me, do you like it when I handle you this way?”

She might be grinning, she can’t really tell.

For a second it seems like Miles will meet her defiantly head on but the expression bleeds from his face immediately when she presses down with her heel. Instead he moans, dangerously loud, then nods.

“Oh, you are such a good little boy.” Now she’s definitely grinning.

She uses her other feet to press his legs further apart. She can feel the wetness of his precum seep through his pants. And she enjoys forcing him to open himself up to her.

She has to press a thumb to her mouth to stop herself from reacting when he starts to quietly sob again. But she likes it, she does. It’s like she has found a crack in the walls he had erected around himself and managed to slither inside. Her presence might not be welcome, she might be a parasite, but where she is, she can feel his warmth.

When he comes, he cries out like a little boy waking up from a nightmare. And when he opens his eyes again afterwards, he looks at her like she is here to save him from a bad dream.

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [tumblr](http://feral-pixiedreamgirl.tumblr.com) like all the cool kids do.


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